Ooooh, confession time, huh?

Here's mine:  Fewer things make me happier than discovering a Dog the Bounty Hunter marathon on A&E.  Just a quick glance at Dog's beautiful, flowing blonde mullet and Beth's gravity-defying rack can break me from the deepest funk.  And don't even get me started on the rest of the family:   

Baby Lyssa, (inexplicably still referred to as Baby, a la Jennifer Grey's Baby on Dirty Dancing) luring the bad guys to the door!  

Leland, with his long skinny braid and heart of gold!   

Bumbling Duane Lee, Dog's namesake, so agile!  

Bobby, the most adorable old man, usually in charge of watching the door least likely to have a criminal come out of it.   

And all willing to take orders from a woman who wears fingerless gloves to display her perfect pink manicure.  And have I mentioned Beth's rack?   

All that, plus fake guns, bulletproof vests, prayer circles, and a beautiful Hawaiian setting.  Amen, bitches!  Get me a glass of wine, I'll be over there on the couch.  (Or a tub of butter, but that's a confession for another day. . .)

S. . .

february. 28 days of honesty.

OK, so honesty sounds kinda, oh I don't know, conservative?  Silly?  Dumb?  What I'm really talking about here are confessions.  Not like baby jesus confessions--let's not get confused.  Just simple, didja know, quasi funny confessions.  Each day of the month. 

Here's an example...

February 1st, confession 1:
My Christmas Tree is still up.  It is.  And I have no end date in mind.  Listen, I'm not ashamed or anything, but I feel the need to talk about it.  Or justify it.  But I'm not ashamed, dammit!  I'm not!!!! 

It's fake, and beautiful (like a Christmas fireworks explosion!) and looks amazing in its place next to the TV.  A blank wall needs something.  And that happens to be my Christmas tree.  For a least four months a year. 

My sweet baby Bacon and the infamous Christmas tree.

the end,
b. chen